My knuckles were white against the folder as I clutched it to my chest. The papers crinkled under my grip, but I didn't care. They weren't just papers. They were Ian's life, his safety, his future all reduced to leverage in Alexander's hands.
"Stop this," I snapped, though my voice shook. "Leave him out of it. Ian doesn't know shit about this don't bring him into this."
Alexander leaned back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other, the very picture of patience. But his eyes… his eyes cut through me. Calm. Cold. Unbothered. "I don't leave loose ends, Isabella. And your Ian? He's a loose end I'm not inclined to ignore."
Heat climbed up my neck, anger burning bright enough to choke me. I shoved the folder across his desk, scattering half the pages onto the polished wood. "He has nothing to do with this! You want to ruin me, fine. But you don't dare touch him."
Something flickered across his fac not anger, not even amusement, just something sharper. He leaned forward, his hand darting out to grab my wrist. The suddenness of it startled a gasp out of me as he pulled me closer, dragging me across the edge of the desk until his face hovered just inches from mine. His grip was firm, unyielding, heat radiating from his skin.
"Don't test me,Isabella" he said softly, almost tenderly, and it made the words worse. His breath brushed my cheek, his voice low and deliberate. "Because the next time you do, it won't be a file I place in front of you. It'll be him."
The threat slid into me like a blade.
I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs, my breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. I hated him. God, I hated him.
But Ian.
Ian, who held my hand when no one else would. Ian, who didn't care that I cried until I couldn't breathe at my mother's grave. Ian, who patched me up with trembling hands and swore I didn't have to marry Alexander. He'd always been the one constant in a world that seemed determined to crumble beneath me.
And Alex knew it. He knew, and that's why he was twisting the knife now.
I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to claw at his perfect suit, to scream until the walls cracked. Instead, I stared at the contract sitting between us, the pages crisp, the pen waiting.
If I signed, I would be his. For two years, I would be nothing but his pawn.
But i I didn't
My throat tightened. I saw Ian's smile in my head, his hand brushing my hair back that morning after the funeral. I couldn't—I wouldn't—be the reason Alex destroyed him.
The pen felt heavier than it should have when I picked it up. My hand trembled, my stomach turning, bile crawling up my throat.
Don't do it. Don't let him win.
But then Alex's words echoed again—"It'll be him."
The sound of my name hitting the page made me flinch. I hadn't realized I'd moved until it was done, the ink fresh and final.
My hand fell limp. My whole body sagged, like the act of signing had stolen the strength out of me.
Alexander plucked the contract from under my hand, sliding it into his folder as if nothing monumental had just happened. His satisfaction was quiet, dangerous.
"Good girl," he murmured.
I wanted to throw the pen at his head. Instead, I stared at the blot of ink bleeding into the paper where my signature had trailed.
He stood, stacking the folders neatly, his control absolute. "Now, go get some sleep."
I blinked, my chest still heaving. "Sleep?"
"Yes," he said smoothly, like he hadn't just broken me in half. "Tomorrow night, we host a dinner party. You'll be on my arm when I announce our engagement."
The words landed like a death sentence.
Tomorrow, the world would believe I belonged to him.
And I had no way out.